
Home, Home on the Harangue
Listen here:
We’re talking about jobs,
Jobs you can count on,
Jobs you can build a future on,
Jobs you need to get back on your feet,
Good jobs, more jobs than people to fill them,
More people at work than any time in history,
Jobs you don’t question, but answer: “Yes sir!”
Write a book of poems in which
Every poem ends with the same word: freedom.
It won’t do any good. It won’t
Make the wild stallion with flaring nostrils
and gleaming hindquarters come
any closer. Or will it?
Tell it to the Jews who exterminate Nazis
on other planets.
Tell it to the $500,000 it cost to kill
each soldier in Vietnam.
Tell it to the riverboats loaded only with
Dried buffalo tongues.
Home, home on the harangue,
Where the anti-work-ethic plays,
Where seldom are heard discouraging words
that I’m self-impaled on my hobbyhorse and preaching,
Gesticulating pipsqueak posturing delusions
of megalomaniac grandeur
on the staggering stage of Eternity.
Links
Sample Poems
Anlter: The Selected Poems
Antler Fan-Site
Antler on Wikipedia